A Jester's Ruse
by rockpaperscissor
Summary: If there was just one thing to say about Daxter, it would be that he hides better than anyone ever gave him credit for.
1. Happy Hour, Take 1

* * *

_A Jester's Ruse  
_

* * *

His grip on the chair tightened as he leaned forwards on the backrest, threatening to break the wooden implement. 

"I'll kill him, he'll _die_, he'll _pay-_"

They were gathered around the table in the kitchen of Hip Hog Heaven. Krew, the fat lard was away somewhere on some shady business deal – he didn't offer details, and they didn't care to ask. There were more important things to think about, such as the grim news that Praxis was meaning to start another Dark Warrior program, this time using priests, who would hopefully be a bit more malleable than the jaded warrior under Daxter's feet.

'Jaded warrior'. Huh.

Now there was a description Dax had never thought would apply to his best friend.

Jak. Sweet, heroic, quiet little Jak. Once, Dax would have outright laughed at any implication that Jak could be anything but a charming and reckless little goody-two-shoes. Okay, so not exactly a pansy, but not exactly the stuff of your worst nightmares either, y'know?

But Jak wasn't so sweet now.

Not so quiet, either.

Dax had to admit, that was the strangest thing about the whole deal. Not that Jak was suddenly all macho and built like a friggin' _house_ – at the very least an apartment for two – or the newfound sadism, or the violent mood swings, the abrupt change in hobbies from skipping around chasing butterflies to beheading and degutting evil monsters, or even that he had suddenly sprouted facial hair out of nowhere.

…Well, yeah, all those things were pretty freaky.

Especially the facial hair part. _I turn into_ _a furry little rug and he gets a goatee?_ So_ not fair. _

But mostly, though, it was the fact that Jak could talk _back_.

Ever since he'd met the guy, Daxter had had to interpret Jak's gestures and looks by himself, meaning that he had to observe and register every move or twitch on the latter's part if he wanted to understand anything about his friend.

And he did it pretty fuckin' well, thank you very much. Why else would they have stuck together for so long? It wasn't because of any encouragement on old green and grumpy's part, that's for sure.

Anyway. One thing Daxter had gotten accustomed to, over the years, was the sound of his own voice. Not like he didn't like it, mind, but it sure took some getting used to. So he made jokes, and was satisfied when Jak smiled and laughed that silent laugh of his or had that appreciative glimmer of humor in his eye. He ranted, and he could ignore Jak's exasperated sigh and not shut up until his friend physically forced him to by rudely (and unfairly) slapping a hand over his mouth.

It used to be their thing – Jak would be the wanna-be hero, Daxter would be the one in the exalted position of glorifying their adventures and interpreting what the mute was trying to say. Jak would be the village golden boy even while dragging them to do whatever stupid thing they were up to next, and Daxter would be the one to claim the fame and get into trouble and make hilarious observations that would make even Samos turn green.

(Well, greener.)

But suddenly, it just… wasn't _needed_ anymore. Alright, so it wasn't like Jak was exactly a chatterbox, and the guy was still pretty damn inscrutable to anyone who didn't know him (who wasn't Daxter), but he could make jokes or snappy comebacks on his own. Jak could, for the first time, argue back – he did, actually, rather loudly, and hell if that hadn't thrown Dax off for a loop that first couple of days.

Not that he let on, of course - had his image to think about, after all.

Speaking of which...

The ottsel shook himself suddenly, rattling the strangely serious thoughts from his head. The movement earned him a concerned glance from Tess. _Everything all right? _her earnest blue eyes seemed to ask.

Daxter batted a hand at her reassuringly. _Don't you worry your pretty little head,_ he thought at her fondly.

...Eh, what was he going on about? Of course the big lug still needed him. Who knew Haven like the back of his paw? Who would get Jak the attention he deserved? Who would be the voice of sense and sensibility?

No one but Dax, that's who.

Tess smiled faintly back, then hesitantly looked back at the grim man currently cursing under his breath.

"We don't know for sure," she reminded him, sounding a great deal more sober than normal, and for a moment it was pretty obvious that the young woman not stumbled onto her role in the rebels by accident. "Torn only told me the Baron was shipping in more dark eco than normal, and trying to recruit what eco tech specialists he can find. It doesn't necessarily mean…"she faltered under his flat stare, "…anything…"

Jak growled, but luckily for him your friendly neighborhood ottsel spoke over him and saved the spaz from making a total mess of things (as usual).

"Sweet cheeks, the Baron sure ain't gathering dark eco to make cookies," Dax replied as he cheerfully skipped off his best friend's shoulder to walk across the table to grab a biscuit. He arched his back in a languorous stretch, vertebraes cracking loudly, then sat down in front of her and added lazily, munching, "Though I don't doubt the bastard's a cookie fan, with a gut that size. Maybe he's trying out some new dark eco chip cookie recipe – wouldn't surprise me, I told Jak ol' lardbutt was getting bigger last time we saw him." He looked back to his friend. "Right Jak? ...Jak?"

The man didn't respond, and Dax snorted, making a rude dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Whatevs, man. Don't mind him, sugar, greenie gets grumpy if he doesn't get a wholesome, well-balanced rampage on a couple'a dead metalheads in the morning."

Tess's eyes crinkled as she stood and turned to Jak. "I gotta work, but you two can stay here. Feel free to help yourselves to anything. Krew won't be in for a while, and you can keep the communicator with you to see what Torn wants you to do." The implication that they shouldn't run off on their own without orders was clear.

Jak narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to protest-

"No problemo, honey bun," Dax purred, cutting him off. "I'll make sure Jak behaves."

She scratched the ottsel's head, eliciting a very pleasurable rumble. "See that you do, Daxxie. Be good!" she cooed.

He winked at her and grinned in a way he fancied was roguish. "Oh, I assure you, I am_ very_ good… Jus' keep those backrubs a'comin', an' maybe I'll show you someday…"

She giggled on her way out, blowing him a kiss.

Daxter watched her rear sway as she walked, sighed happily, then turned to his friend.

"She loves me," he said dreamily. "Now that there is a _woman_, Jakkie-boy."

Jak said nothing, though there was a reluctant twitch in the corner of his mouth.

Narrowing his eyes, Dax rose to stand on two feet, bringing him to Jak's eye level, and he proceeded to glare into his best friend's eyes.

"Whazzat supposed to mean? You don't agree with me, punk?"

Jak looked back expressionlessly. His eyes were blue, just a bit darker than his own – no matter what Praxis did to him, at least that hasn't changed. But he could see the turmoil that boiled underneath the blue, broiling even through Jak's momentary amusement. The… the _thing_ that was inside Jak, that didn't care what happened to anyone, anything, so long as its own pain and rage and hostility were alleviated. It was always there.

Dax didn't like it.

He took one last bite of his biscuit and smirked. "Or is widdle Jakkie just jealous that Dax has himself a mamacita?" He stepped forward to pat Jak smugly on the arm. "Aw, no worries big guy – just because you don't have this sexy face doesn't mean you'll never get any. There's gotta be _someone _who'll have you." He paused teasingly. "...Somewhere."

* * *

A glint of something flashed over Jak's face, and it was as if a spell had broken. 

"Thanks for the reassurance," he responded dryly. He relaxed his posture and let out a breath.

Daxter flashed Jak a wide grin as he snatched up his friend's mug of coffee, still steamy warm on the table. "Anytime, babe. Anytime."

He rolled his eyes the way he could only do with his best friend present, mollified somewhat.

Dax sipped some of the black liquid, shuddered as the warm, caffeinated beverage hit his system, then pointedly gestured to the chair with the mug. "Now do me a favor an' sit your ass down, bud. C'mon, relax. You won't get any metalheads jumpin' at you 'round here." Then in true Daxter fashion, he added, "Not to mention my neck's friggin' tired from looking up at you. Siddown 'fore I hurt myself."

"'Cause that would be _so _tragic," Jak muttered grumpily under his breath, but complied nonetheless. The chair scratched against the floor as he dragged it away from the table to make enough space for himself. He sat back against the backrest, propped his feet on the table, and sighed, mind inadvertently returning to dwell on darker matters.

Praxis. Errol.

Pain.

It wasn't just a matter of wanting revenge anymore. He _needed_ it. Needed to watch his oppressors groveling in pain – see the look of fear and realization of their utter defeat – needed the irony of the created weapon turning back on its makers.

Because sometimes…

Most of the time…

…Usually…

...It was his only reason to keep on going.

The Goal. Capital letters and all. The huge neon signpost that cried for him to look and not turn away until he reached it. The purpose that held him together, made him determined to not fall apart _yet_, because he still had evil to vanquish, still had pain to dole out.

Still had fear and anger and hurt rotting him from the inside out.

He didn't mean to, really. He never meant to scare anyone. He didn't want people to tread around him as if walking on eggshells, as if one wrong word would spell their doom. He didn't like how they turned away, couldn't stand to look at him for too long.

…Sometimes he felt like yelling at them for that. Felt like wishing that they'd have known him before, so instead of judging and resenting him now they'd mourn over what he'd been, could have remained.

But it was only sometimes. Jak didn't like pity. And he was fine with what he was – accepted it, mourned it, moved on.

He couldn't go back anymore. He couldn't pretend he was the same, not even for Dax.

He couldn't help himself. And when he'd discovered that when people were scared of you they were that much more likely to do as you say… Give you what you want…

Two years in prison hadn't exactly given him patience for fooling around.

A dark chuckle echoed through his mind, and he nearly smirked as he realized what he'd been thinking – realized again just how far he'd come from his old self. And to think, he'd used to be a good guy. Sandover's 'golden boy', according to Daxter.

Daxter.

It had been such a relief to see the ottsel again. Such a relief to see that as much as he'd changed, Daxter never would.

His best friend never did seem to care what he did or looked like – just hopped up on his shoulder like always, crowing or yelling or making a crude remark that got on people's nerves and amused Jak with the utter nerve of it. Never said anything when he woke up drenched in sweat, hoarse from yelling. Never stopped enveloping Jak with quick, familiar chatter, as if Jak was still a mute who could only glare at him when he was angry. As if he couldn't behead and slice a marauder to pieces.

It helped, though. It really did.

But truth be told, he never really understood why Daxter stayed with him. Why he never ran away yelling for help at the top of his lungs. Sure, they were best mates, all that was familiar in the strange, bitter world they'd found themselves in, but -

…It was what Dax did every _other _time he was in the presence of danger, after all.

Maybe he didn't _see _the peril. Maybe the ottsel was too oblivious, too _dumb _to realize Jak wasn't the same guy anymore. Maybe he was too scared of the big bad world to leave the old danger for a new one.

Or maybe he was just too stubborn. Maybe he was simply too loyal a friend for his own good .

…Or maybe, he knew that Jak would be much more dangerous if he wasn't there.

* * *

A/N: I think I've figured out why I like this game series so much: Daxter is _incredibly _hard to write. Like, whoa, I'm not even kidding. And Jak isn't exactly a piece of tofu either. It's probably the writer in me itching for a challenge. 

Next time - actual dialogue! Well, a lot more of it, anyhow.


	2. Happy Hour, Take 2

* * *

_Happy Hour, Take 2  
_

* * *

"- owning one's always been a dream of mine, you know."

The words brought Jak down to earth, and he realized that Daxter'd been talking while he'd been brooding. He felt slightly guilty – well, not really, but enough so that it mattered. Too many people took Daxter's voice for granted and ignored it, and it really hadn't been all that long ago that Jak would have done anything to hear even a single word from his best friend. He remembered when they'd first met all those years ago, how delighted he had been to find someone who understood him – who _listened_ when he couldn't utter a word – and how he'd then vowed to always return the favor and be equally as attentive.

That promise had faded over the years – he still listened, of course, more than anyone else did (though had this been about anyone but Daxter, it wouldn't have been an excuse) but he'd gradually realized that most of Dax's prattle was for both their comfort, not really meant to be responded to; as much as he could demand others to participate, Daxter never expected the same from him. And so, more often than not - especially now that he was out of Praxis' control - he would just let the soothing chatter wash over his mind and ease his anger and hurt.

Still, he liked to tune in once in a while. For once, they were alone - not exactly unusual, but it was rare that they had the time to just sit back and talk.

And so, Jak forced the grim thoughts out of his mind and paid attention to the ottsel's ramble.

…He didn't realize that that had been his friend's objective all along.

"Well, not always. Don't think they had any bars back in Sandover, place didn't even have indoor _toilets_ – gotta tell you, big guy, that's the one thing I don't miss about home." He sipped a bit from his cup, spilling a bit unto his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his paw. "..._Precursors_, those outhouses. _Yuck_. So friggin' uncomfortable, and they really started to stink after a couple of days without cleaning… an' ol' greenie kept making me do it all the time, that jerkwad." He shuddered. "But anyway, like I was saying, doubt there was anything like a bar back in the village. Though I'm positive old Samos had an alcohol fix stashed around somewhere." His eyes glittered contemplatively. "He did go to the back room after every time he'd tell me off… betcha he was trying to drown his frustrations. And I'm not talking green eco, either."

Jak raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he said defensively. "Ya gotta admit, Jak, the guy was a little unstable. Remember how he used to yell at me whenever anything bad happened? Didn't matter what or why, it was always 'go clean the barn!' and 'I hope you fall into a ditch someday, you brat!'. One time he even blamed me when the yakkows weren't giving milk!" he recalled indignantly. "_Not_ the act of a sober man, my friend."

He toyed with balancing his chair on two legs. "Maybe that was because someone tied their tails together and frightened them to death?"

Daxter scoffed. "And who was it who let them loose in his hut afterwards, Jak? Huh? Tell me, 'cause I sure don't remember having anything to do with that one."

"Dax, that _was_ you."

"Was not!" he objected.

"You knocked and told me to open the door."

He put down the mug and folded his arms stubbornly as he abruptly sat down, crosslegged. "But you didn't exactly refuse, did you now?"

Jak swiped his coffee mug back, ignored Dax's indignant yelp of "Hey, I was drinking that! Jak!!" and leaned even more into his seat, tipping the chair back dangerously and letting one arm hang limply at his side.

"And how was _I_ to know you would bring in two _yakkows _into the house, Daxter?" he asked the ceiling, returning to the conversation.

"I dunno, maybe because you _know_ me?" came the immediate, flat reply. Which made sense, really. "Besides, I told you the day before."

One hand lifted to scratch his head sheepishly as he remembered. "I didn't think you were serious."

Snort. "…And we've been friends for _how _long?"

"And anyway," Jak continued doggedly, "you sort of neglected to mention that you'd tie their tails together and make them _insane _and run through the village chasing you."

There was silence as he finished, and Jak raised his head to look at his friend in curiosity, realizing that he'd just spoken more than he'd ever had in the few months since their reunion, and wondering if his friend was having difficulty recovering from the shock.

But it appeared his friend had only been in his own little world, for he was smiling into space with a starry look in his eyes.

"…Okay, that was just brilliant improvisation on my part."

Jak snorted. "What was brilliant was how I managed to calm them down before they stomped you to death."

Dax made a dismissive gesture. "Don't be stupid, Jak. They wouldn't have touched me."

"Would that be because you were hanging from the ceiling and cowering for your life?"

"It's called strategic maneuvering – but then, _you_ wouldn't recognize strategy if it crawled into your arms and called you asshole. Asshole."

Jak laughed.

The strange sound was still tickling his throat when he realized that it was the first time he'd laughed since falling into Haven.

He stopped awkwardly. Daxter would probably make fun of him for losing his 'badass routine' – as the ottsel liked to call Jak's newfound personality disorders – or stare at him and look away like anyone else would, uncomfortable with the possibility that the Dark Warrior might actually have a lighter, human side.

This is why he hated relaxing – if he wasn't careful, people might start to think he was safe. That they can push him around. And hell if he was going to go through that again.

...But it was just Daxter, he didn't want to be on his guard around Daxter… then again, the ottsel was only human inside, after all. Couldn't blame him if he acted like it.

…He shouldn't have worried.

"Face it big guy, plannin' ain't your strong suit. Mar's balls, Jak, you think fishin' for info means jumping into a regiment of Krimson Guards and askin' them if they'd heard any evil monologues lately." Dax shook his head sadly. "But that's where _I_ come in. Yup, that's me, mister dashing street smarts, all cool and collected like – is there something _funny_, blondie?" he glared.

A hasty shake of the head, and he held a hand firmly against his mouth in an effort to stop himself from sniggering and cover his grin.

"Oh, I see. I know what's goin' through that li'l head of yours. Where wouldja be without ol' Daxter, you're thinking - am I right or am I _right_?" A confident grin, and a small hand rose to scratch casually at an itch under the goggles. "Jeesh, you'd think someone who can bulldoze his way through a buncha reds would take better care of himself…" He paused. "Then again, most normal people wouldn't be bulldozin' those creeps to begin with. Not all of us have a death wish, y'know, unlike SOME people I could mention."

Face settled back into its normal, proper expression, Jak took his hand off and rolled his eyes. A small invisible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he couldn't believe he'd almost started to lump Dax with the rest of them.

As if Dax would ever act like everyone else.

…Mar, but it was nice to be taken for granted once in a while.

"Nope," the ottsel continued and leaned back, making himself comfortable against a large, ugly and sturdy black vase that was very ill placed on the table, "_this_ ottsel ain't havin' none of that - once we stop the Baron an' all that jazz, I'm gonna own me one of those bars and fix up the angst mood in this town." He grinned and threw his arms up in the air, hands in a victory sign, crowing, "Happy hour every night, baby!"

The hero rolled his eyes.

Despite spending a great deal of his time in bars, Jak wasn't all that fond of them besides the occasional drink or two and the chance to obtain more information on his enemies. As senseless, mind-numbing activities go, he'd much rather go out to the wasteland and bash a couple of metalhead heads.

…Then again, when no onslaught of violence was nigh he didn't exactly protest an glass of scotch, or whatever passed for scotch in this shitty town. When it came down to it, Jak supposed he was really only reluctant because he knew that in the end he would have to pay Dax's tab as well. The little creature had unsurprisingly low tolerance, but once intoxicated he could drink the entire bar dry if not stopped in time.

Jak frowned, green eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at his little friend, still chattering enough for the both of them. Now that he thought about it, Daxter seemed rather too comfortable with bars - alcohol in general. When they'd first stepped into a bar together after escaping from Praxis' prison, the ottsel had hopped over to the counter, asked for 'something strong and manly for my boy here' and 'just a rum runner on the rocks for me, old man', as if he'd been going to bars all his life.

Which he hadn't; not in all the years Jak had known him, which was practically ever since baby-dom. He would have _known_.

Besides of which, Daxter was right – there was nothing like Hip Hog Haven in Sandover. Boggy Billy had offered them a taste once, but they'd politely refused (as politely as "heck no, get that nasty away from us!" could get, anyway), privately thinking that anything that Billy had to offer was something they probably didn't want to mess with in the first place.

_"It tastes somethin' awful anyway,"_ twelve-year-old Dax had whispered knowingly to a wide-eyed Jak later. _"Ya don't wanna touch that stuff." _

So that meant that something must have changed in the two years he'd been gone. Something drastic.

It wasn't that big a deal, really – they were old enough (world-weary enough) to do whatever they felt like, and he wasn't Samos or some kind of parent to criticize Dax for doing something he shouldn't, especially as he'd be a hypocrite for doing so.

But Precursors, he was curious. Because when you thought about it, it bloody made _no sense_.

Jak was a moody, broody, violent fighter who liked the occasional inebriating solution to his problems. But he had an _excuse_ for being that way, thank you very much - and anyway it really wasn't his fault that the rebel headquarters happened to constantly send him to alcoholic establishments for missions. Okay? _Not _his fault. Hell, he wouldn't have cared if he'd had to go meet Krew in a _tree house_ - though what kind of tree house could withstand Krew's weight, he couldn't even begin to imagine.

Maybe it was just this new world, or something to do with growing up… but that couldn't be all. This was _Daxter_. Perhaps once the ottsel had been the less sincere, less innocent of the two of them – but that universal truth had abruptly turned on its head. Now… things were veru different.

And because of that, it still didn't make the slightest bit of sense.

Dax was now the one that yet shone with the childhood innocence of Sandover. Despite everything his best friend ever said, glossed over or insinuated, he was barely any different from the boy who'd protested the journey to Misty Island, not because it was scary (well, not entirely), but because it was _wrong_, and they weren't _supposed _to.

Daxter… he'd seen hardships, witnessed things that would crop up in anyone's nightmares - but that's all he was, really. Just a witness.

_Jak_ had suffered. _Jak_ had things to forget, frustrations to drown, actions he was ashamed of, people he couldn't stand. Daxter… he hadn't even been _touched_ by Praxis.

_He_ hadn't been imprisoned. _He _didn't get pumped full of eco, didn't get-

…

…Fuck, _he _hadn't been tortured for two years, all right?

* * *

A/N: Hooray for Daxterian dialogue! Hopefully I didn't manage to screw it up too badly... Please tell me what you think! The reviews for last chapter were so amazingly uplifting, you guys get an extra-long update! Hope you liked!

Hmm, Jak's being kinda harsh, isn't he...


End file.
